Rules for Dealing
by Mourningdawns
Summary: Peter deals with Neal dealing. Or not dealing, as the case may be. Had to do a post Out of the Box fic.  Complete!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: My obligatory follow up to the season finale. I tried to resist, but…in the end, I couldn't. :p

He could never get used to this. Peter Burke had walked into his office to find his partner quietly bent over paperwork. The federal agent walked gingerly, not wanting to startle the con. '_Rule One: No Sudden Movements_' He thought to himself. Setting a coffee down on the edge of the desk he took a seat at his own, pretending to do his share of the paperwork. Pretending he wasn't watching Neal protectively. Pretending that this wasn't horribly and inconceivably _bizarre._ _'Rule Two: Act Normal'. _The worst part was that Neal wasn't even aware that Peter was watching. Under normal circumstances, he surely would have noticed. He seemed to have a sixth sense about such things.

Finally, Neal did look up. His eyes were red and the bags under his eyes told Peter of long, sleepless nights and haunting memories.

"I know you're watching me." Peter grinned a little but it faltered when Neal's tone fully registered. Flat. It sounded lifeless.

"I thought you would." Peter replied coolly, taking a sip of his coffee, watching his partner of the plastic rim. Neal slouched lower in the seat, his face flushing slightly under the agent's stare. He drew a shaky breath.

He closed his eyes, feeling his pulse start to race. His hands shook and he clasped them together fiercely trying to stop them. It had been two weeks since his life had been ripped apart, torn wide open. Two weeks since his world went up in flames. He hadn't been back to work until today and he was regretting it already. He licked his lips, hoping that this would subside.

"Neal?" Peter could see the distress on the younger man's face. "Neal?" He repeated, but Neal was already too far gone.

"I-I-ah" Neal stood quickly, too quickly, his chair toppling as he fled the office. Peter followed behind him. He watched Neal run into the men's room. Wanting to follow but not to intrude, he stood awkwardly in the hall for a moment.

"Peter?" He turned to see Agent Jones standing next to him, a slightly confused look not quite concealed. "Do you need something in the copy room? I was just headed there." Peter was confused until he realized he was indeed standing next to the copy room.  
"No, I…We'll I guess I forgot. One of the many hazards of aging." Peter tried to play it off and maybe someone else would have bought it, but he'd trained Jones well.

"Where's Caffrey?" Peter didn't answer. _'Rule Three: Don't provide too many details'. _ "C'mon, I saw him in your office earlier. Is he doing ok? I was going to say hi but I didn't want to overwhelm him." Peter shrugged. "I guess he's pretty upset." Peter shrugged again. Jones nodded "Sorry. Everyone's just missed him. Let him know when you see him." With that, younger agent skirted past Peter into the copy room. Peter took a deep breath and walked down the hall, entering the bathroom almost cautiously. A moment of silence was followed by a sharp intake of air.  
"Neal, Neal what's going on?" Neal was sitting on the floor, wrinkling his suit. He shook his head. In his mind, all he could see were those flames, knowing that somewhere in them was the only thing he had ever really wanted. Tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks.

Peter crossed the room in only a few strides and put a hand on Neal's shoulder. _'Rule Four: Don't Say Cowboy Up.'_ With this rule in mind, he didn't know what _to _say. Neal turned his head away, a sob escaping.

"Let me go…Please Peter." He whimpered. Peter groaned when the words and the faraway look in his partner's eyes clicked. _Was this why Neal hadn't wanted to see anyone, even Mozzie?_

Peter had been in the FBI long enough to know that flashbacks were bad news; he'd seen several agents end up needing psychological help to relieve them. His previous experience also told him that they were terrifying- for the person experiencing it and whoever was with them. He'd once been held at gunpoint by a former colleague who was convinced he was back in a hostage situation. Neal leaned his head back against the wall, whimpers escaping his lips.

Peter wanted nothing more than to leave and not have to deal with this, but something somewhere between El's threats and a nagging sense of guilt held him in place. If they hadn't, Neal's fingers curling around his sleeve, creasing the fabric as he held him close would have. Peter sighed and pulled Neal to his chest, his heart breaking as he realized that Neal was trembling.

He held his partner close to him, one hand protectively cupping the back of his head and the other cradling his weary body. Neal buried his face in Peter's chest. They sat together for ten minutes before the con tilted his head upwards.

"I'm sorry" Peter startled slightly as his voice, lower and softer than usual. He looked down, smiling gently.

"It's fine." His voice turned more serious. "How often have you been having these flashbacks, Neal?" The weary consulted shrugged, nestling closer to his protector, taking advantage of his warmth.

"I can't tell the difference between them and the nightmares." He whispered, too tired to disguise his tone, too deep in mourning to care. Peter sighed. Something had to be done; there were no questions about that. Neal couldn't go on forever with flashbacks and sleep deprivation and as much as Peter refused to admit it, Neal's presence in his office added a certain amount of pleasant unpredictability.

"We're going to get you some help." Neal opened his eyes, peering up at Peter curiously.

"What?"

"You need to see someone you can talk to about this. Someone who knows what they're doing. Maybe some sleeping meds or something…" He trailed off as Neal closed his eyes again, wriggling a little and getting even closer to Peter. "No. No, you are not falling asleep in the men's room. C'mon, let's get you up."


	2. Chapter 2

Despite Peter's suggestion, they stayed there on the bathroom floor for nearly an hour. Neal didn't talk, but he didn't fall asleep either. He stayed tucked up close to Peter, fingering the edge of his shirt.

"You always have to fidget, don't you?" Peter finally asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. Neal looked up suddenly, his eyes hollow for a moment before he smiled a little. The smile hid that empty look in his friend's eyes, but Peter could still see it.

"I don't have to. I _choose_ to."

"Yeah, well you did always make lousy choices." Peter chided gently. Neal smiled at him, but the smile seemed broken to Peter. It didn't seem to light up the room like it once had.

"What kind of 'lousy' choices have I been making, Agent Burke?" His voice was lined with mock innocence.

"Well, we could always start with your thefts."

"Those were great works."

"That wasn't what I meant. The choice to steal them though…" He let the sentence hang as Neal pressed himself closer subconsciously.

"That's not really a lousy choice though. C'mon, what did you mean?" Neal latched on to the topic, hoping to distract himself from the thoughts he couldn't shake.

"Well, there's always your taste in wo-" Peter caught himself, but not soon enough. The incomplete word hung heavy in the air. He could have smacked himself for saying it. He should have been more careful, he thought. Joking with Neal had taken him back to a time when that comment would have been met with a roll of the eyes and an exasperated sigh. Now though…He wasn't so sure.

Neal looked away, pretending that he hadn't heard it. But he couldn't stop the memories of his 'wrong choice' from coming back. Kate was everything he'd wanted. Up 'til about two weeks ago, everything he had done had been for her. Now, it seemed it was all for naught. He closed his eyes, letting the images that come on unbidden wash over him; he had given up on fighting it. Peter felt his partner begin to tremble. His stomach twisted into a cold knot, knowing this was his fault. Perhaps because it was his fault, perhaps because he couldn't stand to see Neal like that, Peter pulled him even closer, resting his chin on the con-artist's head.

"Shhh….It's ok, you're ok. I've got you, you're alright. Everything's gonna be ok, Neal." He murmured as Neal buried his face against Peter's chest. Peter grimaced at the idea of anyone walking in right then. '_Rule Five: Let no one find out about this. Ever.' _

Finally, Neal seemed to relax again and it only took Peter a moment to realize he was asleep. He couldn't really blame him, but he couldn't exactly leave him there either. And his back was killing him.

"Neal, wake up. C'mon, I was serious when I said I wasn't letting you fall asleep in the Men's Room. Wake up." Neal looked up at Peter sleepily.

"Not asleep. Just resting my eyes."

"Sure, kid."

"Not a kid." Peter chuckled and stood slowly, shaking his head as his back popped and cracked back to normal. He was going to feel it tomorrow. Peter reached out a hand and pulled the younger man to his feet.

"Let's get you home, Neal." Neal only nodded, not daring to look up from his shoes. Home meant another night alone, filled with flashbacks or dreams. Another night of waking up with sweaty sheets tangled around him, reminding him too much of when Peter had held him back when he tried to run toward the blast. Peter watched Neal as he walked next to him on the way to the car. Neal drug his feet, walking slower than usual. "You're gonna be late for dinner if you keep going that slow. You know how El gets when we're late." Neal froze. Had Peter said that? _When we're late. _He looked up at Peter.

"We're going to your place?" He asked hopefully.

"Yeah. You always love El's dinner, and she's missed you lately so…You don't mind, do you?"

"No. No, that sounds great." He flashed a smile that didn't reach his eyes as he got into the car.

El had the table set by the time the two men got there. She looked at Peter with a hint of a glare at his late arrival, but her expression brightened when she saw Neal.

"Neal! You came! Oh, I'm so glad to see you. How are you doing, do you need anything?" Neal laughed a little, shaking his head.

"No, no I'm good. Doing alright."

"Neal, why don't you go wash up while Peter helps me get the food on the table, ok?" As soon as Neal was out of earshot she whispered to Peter. "He looks horrible! Peter, I thought you said he was doing alright."

"I thought he was. Today was his first day back at work, El, and to be honest, I think it was too soon."

"Did something happen?" She asked, looking at him worriedly.

"I don't know how to say this, but Neal's been having flashbacks." El's eyes widened, her mouth opening into an 'O' shape.

"Oh, Neal…Peter, he should stay here, at least until he's talked to a doctor."

"El, he's an adult. He can take care of himself-"

"What if that happened to me? Would you be able to keep it together, all by yourself?" She asked, crossing her arms. "Peter, he's lost weight, he looks like he hardly sleeps. You really let him come back to work? The poor thing needs to rest." Peter sighed. '_Rule Six: Never argue with a woman'. _

"Fine. But you have to ask him." She nodded, kissing him sweetly on the cheek and then wrapping her arms around him. He sighed and held her close, glad he still could.

"Hope I'm not interrupting something." Neal joked as he walked back in. Neither of the Burke's missed the lost look in his eyes though. And now that El had pointed it out, Peter noticed that Neal had lost weight. His suit hung loosely on his frame and the shadows under his cheekbones seemed darker than normal. 'And you're an FBI agent.' Peter chided himself.

Dinner was almost painful. Neal was clearly trying to keep up his cheerful exterior, but he couldn't quite manage it. Finally, near the end of dinner and after a couple glasses of wine, he was quiet. At long last, El stood.

"Neal, it's late and I think we've all had one glass too many to drive you home. Why don't you just stay in the guest bedroom tonight?" Neal nodded, to near sleep to worry about his nightmares waking the Burke's or someone finding him crying in the middle of the night.

"Mhkay." He mumbled, his head nodding as a slightly alcohol induced sleep began to overtake him.

"Peter, I load the dishwasher if you show Neal to the guest room. And make sure you give him some pajamas, he can't sleep in that suit."

Peter led Neal upstairs and waited patiently outside the bathroom while Neal changed and brushed his teeth with a spare brush. When he finally exited, Peter was almost shocked; his partner looked so young without his suit and styled hair. Now, with only a pair of borrowed sweatpants, which Peter begrudgingly noted were too large for Neal, and his undershirt, he looked like an over-sized child. His hair fell in his face, wet from Neal running water through it. Peter showed Neal to the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him. He went back downstairs and helped El with the dishes and then they both went to bed.

Peter awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. He had dreamt that it had been El instead of Kate in the plane, that it had been Neal holding him back. He rolled over to hold El close, but her spot was empty, cold. He sat up suddenly, his heart racing suddenly. He stood and opened the bedroom door. Before his panic could spread, he saw that the guest bedroom door was open. Taking a deep breath, he crept down the hall and into the room.

El sat on Neal's bed, holding the man as he slept in her arms. She didn't notice Peter's entrance, too caught up in soothing Neal.

"What happened?" He asked, taking his place beside her.

"I got up to go to the bathroom and heard him whimpering. He was crying in his sleep, Peter." Peter bit his lip, looking down at Neal. In the light of the bedside lamp, he could see the sweat on his face, the way his cheeks flushed and the dark bags under his eyes.

"Poor kid" He muttered, running a hand over the sweat-dampened hair. El smiled at him sadly, looking back to the young man in her arms as he stirred.

"Wha…" He looked up, face flushing brightly when he saw the married couple watching him worriedly. "Shit…" He groaned closing his eyes, hoping it was a dream. Then again, maybe not. His dreams hadn't been too pleasant of late.

"Neal, it's ok. It's fine." El whispered soothingly, her hand cupping his cheek gently. "I understand. I would hardly be functioning if I was in your place. But you don't need to be taking care of yourself all alone. Why don't you stay here for a few more days? Besides, I have a few new recipes I need to try out and you know Peter won't try them." Neal managed a smile, despite his embarrassment.

"O-ok. I mean, if it's ok with Peter." El looked up at Peter sharply. He smiled at her and then at Neal.

"Yeah, Neal. It's ok by me." '_Rule Seven: Always have your partner's back. Always.'_

AN: So sorry for the long delay, but its here. Better late than never, right? Anyway, I finally have a laptop, so updates can be much, much, MUCH more frequent now. And as always, review please!


	3. Chapter 3

Neal tried to pretend nothing had happened. It was easy when he was taking a shower, easy when he was getting dressed. But not so easy when he looked in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was pale. He shook his head, not looking back at the mirror after he rinsed his mouth. Going downstairs made it even more apparent that he couldn't act like everything was normal. The table was set for breakfast, a third plate set where there were normally only two. El smiled at him.

"Hey, Neal. How are you?" Her concern was only thinly veiled.

"I'm…I'm alright. Where's Peter?"

"He's still upstairs." She paused for a moment, letting Neal take a plate of pancakes and set it on the table for her. "Neal, you aren't thinking of going in to work today, are you?" He sighed.

"I was, but that tone tells me you think otherwise."

"I just- I worry, that's all. It's what women do. Especially women who are married to FBI agents. Its dangerous work, Neal. If you're off your game a little, you could get hurt. And you know that's the last thing we want."

"I know. Thanks, El." He kissed her on the cheek. "But I have to go in. I'm not going to feel any better sitting here than I will sitting there. I just need to forget, ok?"

"This isn't something that needs to be forgotten, Neal. No one expects you to do that. You've been hurt, and you need time to heal. If you don't give that to yourself…"

"I'll be fine, El. I've taken care of myself for a long time."

"But you've always had Kate. She was always there, wasn't she?" She brushed his hair off his forehead. "But now she's gone. And she wouldn't want you to be doing this to yourself."

Maybe it was the pity; he'd about had it with the pity, especially after the nightmare fiasco last night. Or maybe it was that she brought up Kate. Or maybe that she did that thing with his hair that Kate did when she was trying to calm him down. But it was probably all of it; at least that's what he figured as he yanked himself away from El's touch.

"You don't know Kate! You don't know what she wants!" He was surprised when his voice came out as loud as it did. El didn't make down, though.

"No, you're right. I didn't know Kate that well. But I do think I know what she wants. Because if she loved you, she wouldn't want you to be this hurt. She would want you to heal. She would want you to be happy. It's what every lover wants, Neal." This time, Neal knew what set him off. It was that silly little word, 'if'. 'If' Kate loved him. Of course she had, hadn't she?

"Just shut the hell up! It's none of your business!" He turned to storm out, but a very familiar pair of arms grabbed him.

"You are not going anywhere. And you are never, under any circumstance, to speak to my wife like that ever again. Do I make myself clear?"Peter sounded particularly menacing that morning. Neal didn't respond. "I said, Do I make myself clear?"

"Peter, please, It's my-"

"El. Stop." Peter tightened his grip on Neal. "Well, Neal?"

"…yea. Crystal, Peter."

"Good. " He let him go suddenly, pushing him away a little. There was an awkward silence as the three looked from one to another. Finally, El spoke.

"Well…we wouldn't want breakfast to get cold." She suggested. Peter nodded and moved to follow her to the breakfast table.

"You two eat, I'm going…to take a walk."

"Neal." Peter's voice was full of warning.

"Just a walk, Peter. It's not like you won't know exactly where I am anyways." He looked down pointedly at the leg with the tracking device. He left without another word.

"Peter, I'm so sorry, this is all my-"

"No. Shh, no it's not. He's going through a rough patch, but that's no excuse to act like that. He-"

"No, Peter, it is my fault. I brought up Kate. I know I shouldn't have, but I don't want him to go over work himself. He could get hurt. He could get you hurt."

"It's gonna take a lot more that Neal Caffrey to get me hurt, El. Just relax. Everything's gonna be fine. I'll go talk to him. We'll deal with this like men deal with everything." She smirked as he looked down to hide his own growing smile.

"I have a feeling cheap beer and junk TV isn't going to work for Neal, honey. Though they may get the rest of your men through whatever their wives put them through. This is serious. He lost the love of his life, Peter."

"She probably didn't even love him, El."

"Well, let him think she did. Breaking his heart twice isn't going to make anything better. He's already lost her once."

"I know, I know."

"No, you don't know, that's why I always have to tell you." She chuckled, squeezing his hand.

"Alright." He checked his watch. "Well, if I'm going to find Neal and make it to work on time, I better get going." She stood also, walking him to the door.

"Honey, just be careful with him" She advised as she straightened his tie. "He's really upset."

"I know. I will be. I love you." He kissed her, holding her close.

"I love you too. Have a good day at work, sweetie. And tell Neal I'm sorry about this morning."

Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, it took Peter exactly seven minutes to find Neal. It would have taken five had it not been for the traffic. Neal was sitting on a park bench, looking in the direction of the flower garden, but Peter doubted that's what he was looking at. He shuffled his feet loudly as he approached, just to make sure Neal would hear him. '_Rule Eight: Approach slowly, with caution. Do not threaten or corner.' _He sat down next to Neal, leaving ample space between the two of them. It was a testament to Neal's weariness that Peter caught the sideways glances as Neal checked to see who it was. Usually, it seemed Neal didn't have to look to know who was close to him.

Peter cleared his throat, looking at Neal, who continued to stare at the flowers. He searched for something to say. _'Rule Nine: For the love of God, do not talk about the weather.' _

"So…You alright, after this morning?" Neal looked over at him.

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped at El like that, Peter." He seemed to sink lower into the bench.

"Well, you can make it up to me by letting me get to work on time."

"Really?" Neal grinned.

"What else am I suppose to do with you?"

"Well, I was hoping it didn't involve handcuffs or guns."

"Hmmm… Unfortunately, it does involve guns. Sort of. Hughes called about a case he wants us to work."

"Peter, I don't do guns. I don't like them. I'm a forgery guy."

"And an art theft guy, which is what this case is."

"Art theft with guns? How tactless." He muttered, as eager as Peter to forget the morning's transgressions.

"I thought you might think that. C'mon, get in the car and I'll tell you what I know while we're on our way."

AN: Thanks for all the great review, guys! Keep 'em coming! Also, if anyone has any **CONSTRUCTIVE **criticism on my writing style I'd love to hear it. I'm currently working on an original piece and am trying to get some opinions on my technique in this forum.


	4. Chapter 4

"You know," Neal began "This really isn't my area of expertise." Peter glanced at him as they exited the office.

"You're kidding, right? It's art theft. "

"You'd never see me on a security tape."

"Well…" Peter started, teasingly. "There was that video in Paris…" Neal snorted.

"That hardly counts. All you could see was my shoulder. And only for a second." Peter shook his head, laughing as they both ducked into the car. "And I would never use guns." Peter chuckled.

"I know. You've told me. About a thousand times."

"Well, it completely changes how you do things. I couldn't just storm in and steal paintings. I had to case the museum, look at the cameras, the security system. These guys aren't doing any of that."

"And that makes them a lot more unpredictable than you were."

"Are you calling me predictable?" Neal snorted. "Seemed to take you long enough to catch me. You would have never caught me if I was 'unpredictable'."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah" Neal mumbled, grinning as he looked out the windshield. Looking down at the case file, he whistled. "The Brooklyn Museum of Art, The Metropolitan, The Frick…These aren't little places, Peter."

"No kidding. But the question is where next? It's been a few days. If they stick to the same pattern they had in London they'll hit a couple more. And soon, too. And then they'll skip town." Neal nodded, looking over the list as they drove to The Metropolitan, the scene of the latest burglary.

Neal was remarkably quiet through most of the meeting with the Director, which unarmed Peter more than the blood and white outlines of human figures. He was more used to those.

"Thank you, Mr. Campbell. The FBI has directed a lot of man-power toward this investigation. We'll get those paintings back, don't worry." The director nodded absently, looking towards the area marked off with police tape.

"Yes. Yes, thank you. Unfortunately, some things can never be brought back." He closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again, looking back at the two men in front of him. "I'm sorry. I'm horribly morbid, aren't I? I'm just shocked, that's all. When I entered the art world, I didn't expect to see much in the line of bloodshed." He laughed sadly. "Well, I must get back to work. Please call me if you hear anything about our paintings." He shook hands with agent and consultant before walking off towards a group of curators. Peter glanced at his partner, watching him survey the scene for a moment before speaking.

"You in there, Neal?" The younger man's head snapped to look at Peter, blue eyes meeting brown ones.

"Yea. Just thinking." He smiled, but Peter recognized that Neal's façade was crumbling behind those stunning eyes. His mind jumped back to the crime scene, the outlines of bodies and the fact that there wasn't enough of Kate left to trace. He inwardly flinched at the thought.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Just thinking, that's all. Nothing special."

"Neal." Peter's tone was one of warning.

"Well…This isn't exactly how I would have done things."

"We've been over this, Neal." Peter was growing tired of Neal's reiterations.

"I know, I know. There's just something…I just can't exactly figure it out."

"Well, let me know when you do, Sherlock." Neal rolled his eyes dramatically, taking his hat off as he followed Peter to the crime scene, ducking under the caution tape and pulling on the gloves that were handed to him.

"Looks like they were pretty hasty to get outta here." Neal commented, looking at where the painting had formerly hung.

"I noticed."

"Look, they even damaged the wall"

"Hmm." Peter hummed, only with mild interest. "You know, I was more concerned with the two security guards they 'damaged'." Neal closed his eyes, nodding.

"Yeah. It's just-" Peter turned suddenly, meeting Neal's eyes, looking serious and leaning closer as he spoke.

"If you say 'not how I would have done it.' So help me God, I don't know what I'm going to do with you." He stared at Neal for another moment before grinning at him. "Scare ya?"

"I was just thinking, you might have finally snapped, that's all. And trying to figure out how to tell El." This time it was Peter's turn to roll his eyes. They continued to poke around the scene, but the truth was there really wasn't much to see.

After a short while, Peter could see the outlines were getting to Neal. He wondered if Neal was thinking the same sickening thought he had been earlier. Judging by the former con-artist's pale complexion and the way he was avoiding the agent's gaze, he guessed so.

"Well, whaddaya say we go grab some lunch and come up with a game plan?" Neal gave him a relieved look.

"I thought you'd never ask."

The car ride was quiet. The silent despair lurking in Neal's eyes was growing. Peter could see that Neal was starting to come apart again. He pulled off the road, turning into an empty parking lot. Neal looked at him curiously.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you a minute. Neal, I should have asked, are you ok to do this case?"

"I'm fine…I'm fine, I just-I need some air." He fumbled with his seatbelt and let himself out of the car quickly. Peter did the same, jogging to his partner's side of the car. Neal doubled over, his hands on his knees. His face was flushing and his breathing growing ragged. Peter pushed Neal gently onto the passenger seat, kneeling next to him.

"You're alright. I've gotcha. It's gonna be fine." He rubbed his partner's back in tight circles.

"I'm sorry. I just- the bodies-well, the outlines a-and I thought how-"

"Shhhh. I know, I know. Just relax."

"I can't. I can't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Peter." He was talking fast, stumbling over his words, his breathing too quick for Peter's comfort. The rest of his words were an undistinguishable flood of syllables as Neal Caffrey, confident con-artist, collapsed into Peter's arms, sliding off the seat. His fingers griped tightly to the agent's biceps, digging in deep enough that Peter was sure it would leave bruises.

"I've got you, its ok. You're gonna be fine, Neal. Its ok, you're safe. You're alright. I've got you." He held the younger man close for the second time in as many days, waiting out the trembling and the hyperventilating. Neal couldn't seem to get close enough to Peter to feel safe. He pressed himself tighter against the agent, shivering as small sobs escaped his lips. Peter leaned back against the car, glad it was sheltering them from the peering eyes of passers-by. After the attack passed, Neal spoke.

"Would you believe me if I told you I was getting better?" Neal asked weakly. Peter looked at him with wide eyes.

"You have got to be kidding me. Neal, you need to talk to someone."

"It's getting better. Besides, it's not like this hasn't happened before." His voice was dark and muffled by Peter's shoulder. The older man's chest tightened at the words. He had never come across any evidence of Neal having a nervous disorder or anything that predisposed him to panic attacks or flashbacks.

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's a long story. Can we just leave it at this? It's the reason I don't like guns."

"Neal."

"I don't wanna talk about it. Haven't I had enough traumatizing experiences lately?" He joked, but the humor fell flat. Peter looked down at him, watching as Neal blushed slightly when his position in the agent's arms registered. "Lunch?"

"Yeah. Besides, if I don't feed you, El'll get mad." He teased lightly, smiling when Neal grinned a little. _'Rule Ten: Let things get back to normal ASAP.'_

As they sat at their favorite diner, their conversation drifted across a variety of topics before landing firmly on the case at hand.

"You figure out what's been bothering you?" Peter asked through a mouthful of French dip. Neal sighed.

"Well, right now it's your table manners." Peter mumbled through his sandwich, eliciting a laugh from the consultant. Swallowing, he repeated himself, somewhat more clearly.

"Seriously, though. What is it? And if you say that this isn't how you would be doing things I'm going to throw you back in jail." Neal grinned at the jovial threat.

"Well, if I was doing this…" Peter glared at him from over the rim of his cup.

"Neal, I was serious."

"Me too. I would have gotten the Guggenheim. They wouldn't have passed it up, Peter. They're saving it. Probably for tonight."

AN: Uh oh, I'm venturing into Cliffy territory…don't worry, I'll update soon! As always, please review. :D And don't forget! Please include constructive criticism. You have no idea how helpful it is!

Also: I'd like to include an apology to anyone familiar with museums of NYC. I have never been to 'The City So Nice, They Named It Twice', so my research conducted alongside Professor Google and Dr. Wik I. Pedia. Hopefully it didn't detract from the story too much.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter groaned. Could Neal have had worse news?

"Are you sure?" He asked, though he knew Neal was.

"Of course I'm sure. What self-respecting art thief would pass up on that?"

"I didn't know there were self-respecting art thieves." Neal pretended to look offended and Peter laughed. "Well, Hughes won't be happy to hear that."

"But he'd rather be hearing it today before it happened than tomorrow after." Neal pointed out. Peter nodded in agreement.

"Well, finish your lunch. We'd better get back and come up with something."

Back at the office, they worked to create a plan of action. Hughes sat at the head of the table, looking over the case file as the room fell silent, all present trying to think of what to do next. Finally, someone spoke.

"We could have a team in place in the Guggenheim tonight. Get the security guards out of the way, keep everyone safe." Jones offered.

"They're armed too." Agent Cruz pointed out. "The last thing we need is a gun fight in the Guggenheim." The others nodded in agreement.

"Well, we need to come up with something and soon." Hughes stated authoritatively.

"You need someone inside." Neal began.

"I believe we had all reached that conclusion, Caffrey. However, we also agreed that we don't need a fire-fight either."

"What if we set up a unit outside?" Peter suggested. "Station a team somewhere outside the building, wait for them to come out."

"Why not on the way in?" Jones asked.

"They'd be more likely to expect it then. While they're leaving, they'll be thinking they've gotten away with it. It'll be easier to catch them off guard." Rationalized Cruz, looking at Peter for approval. He nodded, biting his lip in concentration.

"It would be easier if you had someone on the inside." Neal said again. Peter glared at his friend. "What? Someone who could let you know where they were going to come out. In case you guys hadn't noticed, this isn't a little building. There're a lot of places to exit. A lot more if you're willing to break a few windows."

"And who would we send in?" Hughes asked dully, looking very nearly fed up with the consultant.

"Me, of course. Unless you have anyone else who has snuck into the Guggenheim before." Peter groaned into his hands.

"Neal, what makes you think that's any safer than sending a whole team in? Or just one of us?"

"A team of you would be too obvious. And even one of you wouldn't be quiet enough. Trust me," He looked meaningfully at Peter "I'd know." Peter closed his eyes, remembering one of the many times they'd almost caught Neal.

"Neal, that's too danger-"

"We'll do it" Peter was interrupted by his superior. He turned to stare at Hughes, trying to hide a disbelieving look.

"Sir, don't you think this might be too dangerous? Neal isn't an agent, he's a consultant." Hughes nodded.

"Normally, I would agree with you, Burke. But we have limited time for this and to be fair, Caffrey's snuck around more museums than I'm ready to acknowledge." Peter sighed. He knew that, tactically at least, this decision was reasonable. The part of him that thought of Neal as a close friend had trouble thrusting him into danger like this, though. "He'll be wired and we will have at least four teams outside. Caffrey," He addressed the former thief suddenly. "If anything goes wrong, you let us know immediately. No one is going to get hurt tonight." The last sentence was mostly for the comfort of Agent Burke, who looked opposed to the idea.

As the agents left the office, each off to prepare for that night's operation, Peter grabbed Neal's arm, leading him off to the side.

"What were you thinking?" He hissed.

"It's the only thing we can do on short notice."

"We could think of something else…Are you sure you can do this?" Neal's face flushed at the question. He lifted his chin, maintaining his dignity despite his colored cheeks.

"I'm fine, Peter." Peter shook his head vehemently.

"I don't like it. It's not safe, and you're not 'fine'. Stop kidding yourself, Neal."

"I think I can decide if I'm ok or not. And this is safer than a lot of things I've done before. I'll be alright." Neal turned and walked away, not willing to argue further.

'You didn't have me before' Peter almost said, watching his partner, his friend, walk off. He couldn't put it into words, but he felt the need to protect Neal. Especially lately. Neal hurting, physically or emotionally, wasn't something he could stand to see. It reminded of the rare occasions when El would cry; he didn't know what to do, but he wanted to do something. He sighed, shaking his head at himself for becoming so attached to a con-artist.

He walked in to his office, smiling at the sight of the consultant bent over paper work, tongue sticking out in concentration.

"Neal?" He looked up.

"Yeah?"

"I'm…I'm sure you'll do fine tonight." Neal smiled brightly at the compliment.

"Well, I know I'll have great back-up." Peter grinned back.

"Just don't do anything stupid. Don't get caught."

"It takes a lot to catch me. You should know. You're the only one that has."

"Twice." Peter smirked.

"Yeah, well don't brag. That second time was a gimme."

"Alright. If you say so."

The two men lapsed into silence, pretending to busy themselves with things that really could have waited a day or two. Peter glanced at Neal, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm not going anywhere." Neal finally grumbled.

"Hm?" Peter pretended he didn't know what his partner was talking about.

"You keep looking at me like I'm a flight risk. I'm not going anywhere."

"I was not."

"Well, I guess my charm's just irresistible, and you can't keep your eyes off me." Neal laughed, leaning back in his chair. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's it."

"You know, this won't be the first time I've been in a Guggenheim."

"Which one have you been to?" Peter was fairly certain Neal hadn't stolen from a Guggenheim before.

"Only two. The one in Berlin and the one in Venice. That one in Venice…that's the greatest heist never told."

"Oh, really?"

"Not that I was involved, of course. But I heard a story of a thief, who forged the documentation to get a job there as security."

"Oh, did you now?" Peter was trying hard not to sound amused. Really, he should be upset this was never reported to him, but sometimes Neal's cleverness was something to be admired.

"Yeah. And then this thief, he forged the painting he intended to steal. And one night, while working his shift, he replaced the original with the fake. And the staff was none the wiser."

"And what did this thief do with the painting?"

"Well, he sold it, of course. And then he quit working there, I believe. I don't think anyone was ever the wiser." Peter shook his head.

"You're something else, Neal."

"It wasn't me, remember? I only heard the story." He tried to look innocent, but Peter could only laugh.

"Alright. Well, no stealing from this Guggenheim. You're working for the FBI now."

"How could I forget?" Neal leaned back in his seat as the men continued to chat, paperwork-and argument- forgotten.

That night, in the parking lot of the coffee shop across from the Museum, Peter tested the sound equipment before giving it to Neal. The older man was nervous; more nervous than he would have been if he was the one sneaking in. He watched as Hughes went over protocol with Neal again, stressing that if anything seemed off, he could call off the op and all teams would rush in. Once Hughes walked away, Peter approached him.

"You sure you wanna do this?"

"I was sure the first million times you asked." He muttered softly, fiddling with the earpiece and microphone he had been given.

"Neal." He put a hand on the young man's shoulder, drawing his attention. "Please, be careful." Peter didn't care that he sounded desperate.

"What do you think I'm going to do? This isn't the first time I've done something like this." Neal tugged on the sleeves of his black sweat-shirt, unwilling to meet Peter's eyes.

"You've just been through a lot lately. I don't want you to push yourself too hard."

"Did El put you up to this?" Neal asked, looking up as he pulled on a dark stocking hat, his wavy hair disappearing beneath it. Peter exhaled heavily.

"Would it matter if she did?" In reality, Peter hadn't told El about this case. If she knew what Neal was preparing to do, she'd probably shoot Peter herself.

"Maybe." Neal knew that El hadn't been the reason for this worry, though. Peter seemed to be doing that all on his own.

The fact that Peter cared about him was reassuring, making Neal feel a little safer. He also knew that Peter's concerns weren't completely unfounded, either. Ever since losing Kate, he'd been off his game. Not that he would ever admit that to himself though, let alone to Peter. Neal looked up at the agent, feeling a little guilty for the expression on Peter's face. He looked worried and maybe a little put-off by Neal's attitude.

"I'll be careful. Don't worry. In a few hours, I'll be back to driving you crazy." He said with a grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet for emphasis. Peter couldn't help but smile.

"Alright." Neal bounced a little more, almost as though he was warming up for a race. Finally, Hughes gave the signal and Neal left, stealing away into the night, disappearing against the darkness. After a minute, they heard his voice over the speaker.

"I'm in. This is easier than I remember." He chuckled.

"Probably because you didn't have a key last time."

"Oh, the key. I think I left that with you, Peter." Neal's voice was bright and cheerful for the first time in weeks.

"No, I gave it to you."

"Check your wallet." Peter rolled his eyes, but under the curious eyes of his junior agents, he complied, pulling his wallet out. When he opened it, the key fell out onto his lap. Even Hughes smiled. Suddenly the radio crackled.

"Team 2. A dark blue ford drove past twice and just pulled up about half a block down from the building. I think these might be our guys." A brief pause before they continued. "Subjects confirmed. Three adult males, dressed in dark clothing. They have guns. Looks like they are making for the southeast entrance."

"You copy, Neal?"

"Loud and clear. I'll be ready and waiting." Time seemed to be at a standstill as Peter stared at the radio, willing someone to speak.

"Team 2. Subjects have broken the door and entered." Everyone tensed. The radio remained quiet, no word coming from the inside.

Neal crouched low against a dark wall, watching the southeastern door as the thieves broke the lock, letting themselves in. If any security guards had been present, they surely would have heard it over much of the museum. However, if the three men noticed, they didn't let on. Neal followed them silently through the museum until they reached the desired exhibit. Watching from behind a staircase, he flinched when they began to roughly remove the works, not seeming to be too interested in their continued preservation. After watching them for a little while, he became aware that there were only two. Panic rushed through him as he heard footsteps above him.

"There ain't anybody here." The gruff voice grunted.

"There's gotta be somebody."

"Well, there ain't. I didn't see no body."

"Maybe you wasn't looking close enough."

"Well, why don't you go do it, then?" Finally the third man spoke.

"Why don't both of ya shut up?"

"Yeah, boss" Both men replied, almost humorously meek. The boss continued. "No alarms have gone off, no guard here…Something isn't right."

"Maybe it's like that silent one they had in London." Offered one grunt. The three men stood in front of the painting they were forcibly removing from the wall deep in thought.

"Nah, we had guards within a couple minutes that time. I think this is a set-up"

"Well, what are we suppose ta do?"

"We've got plenty of ammunition." Neal keyed his mic, hoping the device would pick up some of the conversation.

"So, we just gonna shoot up the place?" Peter heard faintly over the radio.

"Shit!" He whispered. He stopped when the thieves spoke again.

"Not until we have to…Hold on-What was that?" Suddenly, Neal's feed went dead. Peter felt a cold sweat break out over his forehead. Hughes grabbed the radio.

"All teams move in. Possible breech. Take positions outside the building." Everyone poured out of the van. Peter could hardly breathe evenly. 'What has Neal gotten himself into?' He wondered.

The Neal's mic crackled a little with feedback. The attentions of the three men were suddenly directed towards the dark under the staircase.

"Guess were not alone after all." The man who seemed to be running the operation moved closer, shining his flash light ahead of him. Neal held up a hand in front of his face, closing his eyes against the light.

"Sorry, Peter." He whispered.

AN: I crunched the numbers. Less than 1% of people who read this review it. I hope the minority that reviews likes the story, which is benefiting from their input. The moral of this authors note: Don't be a statistic; be an improvement.


	6. Chapter 6

The man approached until Neal was in full view. Between the glare from the flash light in his eyes and the shadows, Neal couldn't see the features on the violent thief's face. He wasn't sure if it would matter; would he even be alive to identify the man when Peter and the rest of the FBI rushed in to save him? Having heard Hughes tell the teams to move in, it was obvious his rescue was close. He just hoped it was close enough. He gulped as the aggressor lowered the flashlight.

"Who the hell are you?" He growled. Neal looked up, meeting his eyes confidently. God, he hoped Peter would get there soon.

"Neal Peterson. If I'd known you'd be robbin' the place tonight, I would have come at a different time." He joked. The other man didn't say anything, his expression growing stonier. Neal cleared his throat nervously. "So, uh, who are you?"

"What's it to you?" He growled.

"Well, we're obviously both on the same side here. Considering we both snuck in." Though, personally, Neal wouldn't have called what this man and his team did 'sneaking'.

"Mike." He said finally.

"Just Mike?" Neal asked.

"Yeah. Just Mike. What are you doing here?" His eyes narrowed in distrust.

"Same as you. But, probably a little quieter than you guys, huh?" Neal laughed nervously. Mike did not.

"Then why ya hiding?"

"Right. Well, I'm not really much of a confrontation guy. Don't like guns. Just want a couple of paintings. You know, to pay the rent, and put food on the table. That kinda stuff." His voice was remained even as his body began to shake. Shouldn't Peter be here soon?

"Oh yeah? You got some little lady at home?" Neal would have been comforted by the show of concern if the man hadn't sounded so threatening.  
"Yeah. She's back home. She just had a baby, so…we need all the extra money we can get, ya know? Diapers aren't cheap." He played the sympathy card shamelessly.

"Huh. Too bad for her." He stepped closer. Neal took a step back, bumping into the wall.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we can't just let you go."

"Who am I going to tell? I can't call the police and tell them I met some thieves after I broke into the Guggenheim. I'd have to be out of my mind." The guy shrugged.

"Or maybe you tell that little lady of yours…and she mentions it to the cops. It's a chance we can't take. I haven't left anyone alive yet, and I'm not starting tonight." He stepped closer, close enough that Neal could smell his aftershave.

"I-I won't tell anyone, I swear. Not even Kate." He winced as he said her name. He'd always wanted to get married and settle down with Kate. He wondered what it would have been like. The back-story he'd created for himself sounded like paradise; him and Kate in a little apartment, raising a child together. He wished it wasn't a lie.

"Well, you made your Kate a widow and your kid an orphan. That's too bad, Peterson. Too bad for them." Neal closed his eyes, images of Kate flashing in his mind. Her smile, her eyes, everything in the world he'd ever loved. Everything he'd never had to steal.

"Please, can we please just talk this out? Don't you think this is a little rash?" Panic was now obvious in Neal's voice. Mike pushed him against the wall, his hand firmly on his chest. Neal's saving grace-and the thieves' demise- was this: the pressure triggered the mic.

"There's nothing left to talk about. Far as I'm concerned, you're a dead man." Peter heard the tinny threat in his ear as he stood outside the Guggenheim. A chill ran through his body as he glanced at Hughes. The older man wasted no time as he spoke into the radio.

"All teams move in. I repeat: all agents move in." He yelled. They rushed in, guns drawn. Neal drew a deep breath at Hughes' command. Soon, he'd be safe. Mike shoved him into the wall.

"Hope you told your wife and kid good-bye, Peterson. 'Cause you won't be seeing them again." Neal closed his eyes, letting himself be slammed against the wall. His head stung, but the pain was quickly numbed as the circular metal of the gun barrel pressed against his chest.

"Peter, hurry." He whispered, not knowing Peter could hear. The agent ran faster, all thoughts other than saving Neal melting away. He ran down a long hallway, hearing a shout that echoed through the empty building and screeched on the radio. Immediately following the scream was a sound Peter was too familiar with: A gunshot. He turned, running towards the sound.

At first, Neal didn't know what happened. Mike had pulled the gun. Neal had panicked. Then the gun fired. Neal screamed when the pain registered. His efforts to free himself had likely saved his life; the bullet seemed to have pierced his shoulder.

"FBI! Drop the weapons! Get on the ground!" Neal closed his eyes as he sank against the wall. Peter watched as the criminals dropped to the ground before he turned to find his consultant. Sweeping his flashlight beam across the room, he spotted Neal, pale and blood splattered. The consultant was slumped down against the wall.

"Call ambulance! Man down!" He yelled over his shoulder. Rushing to Neal, he was relieved to see those blue eyes, though they were duller than he remembered. "Neal! Neal, hang in there, buddy." Neal looked up wearily.

"He…Kate…I wanna see Kate, Peter." Peter felted the blood drain away from his face.

"No! Neal, you can't see Kate yet. We need you here. You're gonna be alright."

"No…Peter, let me go. Let me go." He mumbled. The hand he held to his chest was covered in blood doing little to stop the flow that soaked the dark fabric of his sweatshirt. Peter shrugged off his jacket and pressed it over the wound. The younger man shrieked in pain as he struggled against Peter, but the agent was stronger.

"Neal, you're gonna be ok."

"…Just let me go…She can't be dead. Peter, she can't be dead. Maybe she got out…Maybe she's ok." Peter groaned.

"Neal, c'mon Neal, wake up. C'mon, you promised. You said you were gonna be alright. Neal, please." Neal struggled a little but finally relaxed in Peter's grip. Both men heard the faint scream of sirens, growing louder as they made their way closer.

"I'm sorry, Peter." Neal whispered.

"No, no, you don't have anything to be sorry for. You're gonna be alright, Neal, everything's gonna be fine."

"I wish it wasn't a lie."

"What was a lie? Neal, stay awake. Tell me about the lie. What was the lie?"

"I told him…told him me and Kate…married. Had a…kid. I wish it was true. I wish…" Neal closed his eyes, slumping lower against the agent.

"No, no Neal! C'mon, Neal, stay with me. Neal! Neal, wake up, C'mon, Neal, wake up!" Peter's voice was laced with fear, echoing hollowly in the empty space of the museum.

Within minutes, paramedics had taken Neal from Peter's arms, leaving a cold, bloodstained spot behind. He watched as they loaded Neal onto a stretcher, shutting his eyes to avoid seeing the look on Neal's face. He couldn't stand to see him like this.

Hughes and Peter both waited at the hospital, sitting together in silence. Peter glanced at Hughes a few times before speaking.

"He'll be ok." He didn't know that for sure, but he needed to say it aloud. He needed someone to hear it.

"He will be." Hughes agreed. "Have you called El? She might want to know." Peter sighed.

"I hadn't thought about it. I will. Excuse me." He stood and pulled out his cell-phone, stepping out into the dark chill of night.

"Hello?" El's voice was confused and tired. Peter suddenly realized how late it was. Almost two in the morning now.

"El, its Peter." His voice betrayed his message.

"Oh, God, what happened? Its Neal, didn't it?" Her breath caught in her throat.

"Yeah. He's…he's in the hospital now…He was…he got shot."

"Oh, God…What hospital are you at? I'll be right there." She slid out of bed even as she spoke.

"El, no, you don't need to-"

"Peter! I'm coming! What hospital?" Peter smiled a little in spite of himself. After relaying the necessary information and telling her to be careful, he returned to the waiting room. Hughes glanced up at him.

"Is El coming?" Peter nodded. "Good. For you and Caffrey." Peter glanced sideways at his boss but remained silent. The older man sighed heavily. "Caffrey'll be alright, Burke. He's a tough kid." Peter looked at his superior, smiling a little.

"I guess Neal is growing on you, huh Hughes?" He chuckled darkly.

"Like a fungus." This time Peter laughed. Leave it to Neal to slowly worm his way into everyone's hearts. Even someone like Hughes, who pretended he didn't have one.

"Sounds like Neal." Hughes laughed a little as well

When El arrived, she ran across the waiting room, wrapping her arms around Peter in a hug.

"Have you heard anything yet? How's he doing?"

"We haven't heard anything yet." El ran a hand through his hair.

"He'll be alright, Peter. He'll be alright."

Together, the trio waited for almost two hours. Finally, a nurse approached.

"Family for Mr. Caffrey?" They stood. She told them about Neal's condition, but Peter couldn't really hear her. Neal was alive. That was all that mattered. He was alive and he would be alright. Maybe a little worse for the wear, but alive. Alive.

After being assured that Neal was going to be fine, Hughes excused himself, leaving the Burkes to wait by Neal's bedside. El sat on one side of Neal, holding his hand, while Peter sat on the other side. It seemed that all the adrenaline drained away from Peter suddenly. He couldn't remember ever being so tired. A hand resting on Neal's bed close enough to feel if the con-artist moved, he fell asleep.

He awoke slowly. Something pressed into his arm. And then disappeared. Then it happened again. And again. Finally Peter managed to open his eyes. Blinking groggily, he saw Neal smile weakly at him and poke his arm another time.

"I told you. In a few hours, I'll be back to bugging you."


	7. Chapter 7

Peter rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the smile.

"Yeah, but I was hoping you'd let me sleep first." Neal shrugged his right shoulder, the uninjured one, but he still had to bite back a grimace.

"You did enough sleeping. Besides, I was bored." Peter laughed, keeping quiet so as not to wake his wife.

"Alright. Fine. Glad to see you're ok." Neal nodded.

"Yeah. Me too. I didn't think…I didn't think it was going to go well." He paused for a second before adding "God, I hate guns."

"I've heard that before. How's your shoulder? What happened, exactly?"

"They said the bullet went through-and-through and that that was a good thing, so that's good, I guess. My shoulder…hurts. Like hell. And I really don't remember what happened. Did I get everything?" The hint of humor in the consultant's voice was enough to coax a smile from Peter, despite the situation.

"Yeah. You're on pain meds, aren't you? It shouldn't hurt." Peter stood to look worriedly at the IV, though he didn't know what he was looking at.

"I was on something like morphine, but that was a little too strong. I asked for something lighter."

"What do you mean 'too strong'? I didn't think you were allergic to any drugs." Peter frowned. If Neal was, that really should have been in his file. Had he overlooked something?

"Not allergic. Just…I just don't like it. Not since…a while ago." Peter gave him a stern look.

"Could you be more vague, please? I don't think I couldn't follow enough of that." Neal chuckled humorlessly.

"I get kinda loopy on pain meds. Last time someone gave me morphine…Well, it's not an experience I'd like to repeat."

"I think you're loopy all the time." Peter grumbled, pulling his chair closer to the head of the bed and sitting down. Neal smiled. "I never came across any hospitalizations when I was after you." Suddenly, as though a cloud had passed in front of the sun, Neal's eyes darkened.

"No. No, you wouldn't of."

"Then when?"

"You've never found anything about me from when I was a kid either, have you Peter?" Neal's voice was calculated and distant.

"Nope. Can't say I have, Neal." Peter kept his voice level and calm, hoping Neal would follow suit.

"Don't go looking."

"Alright." Neal looked confused by the unexpected answer, his dark mood evaporating. "You feelin' alright?" Peter asked.

"Yeah…just tired. Can I go home now?" Peter shook his head.

"I think El and I would both like you to stay here. For a while, at least."

"But Peter," Neal began, his eyes brightening as he tried to get his way. "I really think it would be better if-"

"It would be better if you stayed here." El interrupted, startling both men. Neither had noticed her silently watching the conversation. "And that's final." Neal sulked, knowing better than to argue with El.

"Fine. But it's not like this would be the hardest place to sneak out of." He added, sneaking a knowing glance at Peter. El smiled at him, scooting closer and running a hand lovingly through his hair. Neal closed his eyes, comforted by her touch.

"How about I make you a deal? If you don't sneak out of here, I'll make you your favorite meal for dinner. How's that sound?"

"Delicious." He opened his eyes to look at her. He would have stayed put even if El had just told him too; he'd only mentioned how easy it was to bother Peter. She smiled at him and kissed his forehead as she stood.

"Good. Well, I have to get going. I have to be at work in an hour. You boys better behave yourselves." She looked between the two of them warningly. After she left, Neal looked over at Peter.

"Have we ever not behaved ourselves?" Peter shook his head.

"Not 'we', only you." Neal pretended to look outraged, getting Peter to laugh again. "Seriously, though, shouldn't you be sleeping? You need to rest."

"Peter, I'm touched. But I'm not tired. You're just going to have to put up with me." The two sat in silence, Neal trying to not drift off to sleep and Peter trying to dissect what his partner had said. What had Neal meant about morphine? And his childhood? How did that tie together? Did they go together at all? He'd never found out anything about Neal's youth. The only documentation he even had was the birth certificate and the driver's license. But even with those, he'd never been able to find out anything about a young Neal Caffrey.

Suddenly, it dawned on him. He felt stupid for not looking into it more extensively earlier. There was a high likelihood that both those documents were fakes. Looking over at Neal, noticing with some amount of amusement that the younger man was asleep, he wondered who he really was. Another part of him wondered if Neal would ever trust him enough to tell him.

Three days later, Neal was released from the hospital. Peter dropped him off at his apartment, with strict orders to be packed by the time Peter got off work. It was El's idea; she didn't like the thought of Neal staying alone, when he was on painkillers and June was out of town. Truth be told, Peter didn't like it either, but he let Neal think it was all El's planning.

Neal sat on the floor in front of his closet. He couldn't bring himself to pack the suits he loved so much. He didn't like the idea of looking like a slob, either. Finally, he settled on several pairs of jeans and T-shirts. As a last thought he grabbed an old college sweat shirt. Not a college he'd gone to, but he'd liked it none the less. Bag packed, he drug it until it sat next to the door. One arm in a sling, he didn't feel like carrying it around much more. A glance at the clock told him that it was still a couple of hours before Peter arrived.

Lying on the couch, he contemplated taking his pain killers, but he decided against it. Pain killers always managed to loosen his tongue too much, making him say things he would have rather kept guarded. He would just have to deal with it. He'd dealt with worse, though not always well.

Sighing, he flipped open his cell phone. After three rings, the voice he wanted to hear answered.

"Neal? I thought you might've ran off again." Neal snorted amusedly.

"What, without calling you, Mozzie? Not likely. I just had something I thought you should know."

"What makes you think I don't know already?" Moz asked, concealing his tone like he did on a con.

"So, you knew I got shot and you didn't visit me? I'm hurt, Moz."

"What?" Neal laughed. "No, this is no laughing matter, young man! I expect someone to call me when you do something that stupid! Doesn't the FBI have someone for making phone calls?" Neal couldn't resist as he countered.

"No, no, they had to lay them off, so they could pay someone to cover-up conspiracies."

"Please tell me you're not joking."

"About getting shot? I thought we were friends!" Neal laughed again as Moz grew more disgruntled.

"You know what I meant. How'd you get shot? Is this a secure line?"

"It's my cell. From the FBI."

"That answers my question. Don't tell me anything, I'll be right there." Neal smiled.

Within fifteen minutes, Moz was knocking on the door.

"Let yourself in, Moz." He called, not wanting to move anymore. Moz complied, walking in and sitting down across from Neal. He studied his friend for a moment, not missing the stiff way he was holding himself.

"Well, that's a lovely sling you have, Neal."

"I thought so. It really does something for my figure, doesn't it?" He smiled proudly when he got Moz to grin.

"That it does, my friend. So, what happened? Did The Suit shot you?"

"No. I broke into the Guggenheim and-"

"Again? Isn't twice enough?"

"Well, I was going for the trifecta and technically I only snuck into the one in Berlin…but no, those thieves that have been here the last few days, the ones from the Brooklyn and the Met, they were there that night. The FBI was investigating and so I went in to see where they were going, ya know, keep an eye on them."

"Well, it looks like everything went according to plan." Moz enthused sarcastically, gesturing to Neal's sling.

"I still hate guns."

"I can see they haven't been doing you any favors either. But you've been gone for longer than the time from the Guggenheim incident. I'm afraid to ask, but how are you doing after…the _other_ incident?" Neal closed his eyes.

"I'm…I'm hanging in there. Some days…some days are better than others."

"By 'hanging in there' do you mean by a noose or should I go off suicide watch?" Neal couldn't tell if Moz was joking or not.

"I'm…ok, if I don't think about it."

"And how often do you not think about it?" Moz leaned closer.

"Never." Neal admitted after a long pause. His voice was unsteady and vulnerable; something that scared Moz more than the thought of the phones being tapped-and that was a lot.

"Neal…" He didn't know what to say. Part of him felt at fault; he'd introduced Neal to Kate years ago. Other parts of him were working to conjure up people skills he hadn't used since grade school, and even those hadn't been very good. Suffice to say, Mozzie Haversham wasn't good with people and he really wasn't good with upset people. But for Neal, he thought he could try.

Neal covered his face with his hand, physically trying to hold back his emotions. His chest shook with repressed tears and he wished he'd taken the meds after all. The physical pain only compounded on the emotional, something he already could hardly stand. His face flushed as a couple of tears slipped past his palm. He wished Moz wasn't seeing this. It was bad enough that Peter already had- twice.

"Have you taken pain meds?" Moz pretended that Neal wasn't crying.

"No. Don't wanna. They make me weird." Moz nodded.

"Right. Like that time when we had to steal some morphine and give it to you. That was classic entertainment, Neal." Neal chuckled through his tears.

"Don't want to repeat that. Especially-"

"Not around the Suits. Got it." Neal moved his hand and looked at his friend gratefully.

"Yeah." He let his hand drop to his chest, taking a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, just-just give me a minute-I" He stood quickly, rushing towards the bathroom. Moz followed hesitantly. Pushing the bathroom door open quietly, he winced at the sight. Neal bent over the toilet, vomiting what little food he had managed that day, tears rolling unchecked down his cheeks. Moz rested a hand solidly between Neal's shoulder blades. After a long moment, Neal looked up, face pale from pain and emotion.

"I'm sorry, Moz, I-" Moz shook his head.

"No need. You don't have to apologize." Neal nodded, sinking back against the wall.

"I can still see it. The flames, the plane. Everything. I should have done something, I should have saved her." Moz slid down the wall, seating himself next to his friend. He was in way over his head already; he figured he might as well keep going.

"There wasn't anything you could do, Neal. It's alright. You're going to be alright." Moz thought he sounded like someone out of a cheesy movie. Neal leaned his head forward, tucking his knees closer to his chest. "Neal? Neal, you in there?"

"…Just let me go…Let me go, Peter." Moz sighed. He wanted to leave, but he could only imagine what would happen if he did. Neal cried harder, clutching tightly at his chest in pain. Finally, after what Moz reckoned was an eternity but was really closer to ten minutes, Neal quieted. He dared to look over at the younger man, startled when those blue eyes were staring back at him.

"Feeling better?" Neal blushed, looking away. "If you don't mind me asking-"

"I do."

"Too bad. How often does this happen?"

"Too often." A sudden darkness colored Neal's tone.

"Maybe you should consider seeing someone about this?"

"Last time you said I should 'see someone' you posed as a doctor and stole drugs."

"Well, clearly I don't know what type of drugs to steal this time. And you only needed some stitches then. I know how to do that. It's amazing the things you can learn Boston."

"Right. You know, I spent a whole summer there without learning that particular skill." Moz chuckled, standing and helping Neal to his feet. "There was something else I wanted to tell you." They made their way to the living room, both eager to pretend the last fifteen minutes had never happened

"Last time you said that, you told me you got shot. What is it this time? Aliens abducted you?"

"Not quite. I'm staying with Peter and El for a few days."

"Ah. In the house of Mr. and Mrs. Suit. Should be an enjoyable experience, something akin to prison, I would guess."

"Well, the food's better. And the bed is comfier."

"There's always that." The pair continued to chat, Moz watching Neal worriedly. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he was glad he was going to stay with 'The Suits' for a while. He needed someone to take care of him. Moz had never been good at it and now with Kate gone, Neal was running out of people who could.

AN: I think the next chapter will be the last. I am planning on writing something like a sequel to this, since I mentioned Neal's childhood a couple times. I hope everyone has enjoyed this. I've learned a lot about what works and what doesn't, so thanks for letting me test that out on you!


	8. Chapter 8

Peter hesitated before knocking on Neal's door. Inside he could hear the low murmur of voices. Judging by the tone, he knew one was his partner and the other sounded like Moz. He wasn't sure what he was interrupting and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. The sound of his knuckles on wood halted the conversation abruptly.

"Door's unlocked." Neal's voice sounded weary. Peter entered, smiling as he saw Moz shuffling papers under each other. He really didn't want to know. Both men were sitting at the table, though Peter could tell from the lines of Neal's face that he was hurting.

"I don't even want to know." Peter nodded towards the papers. "Neal, have you taken your pain killers?" Neal sighed.

"Yes, mom." Neal rolled his eyes. Peter sighed and sat down across from him. Moz looked from Neal to Peter and back again. Despite Neal's skills at lying, he wasn't doing a very good job; he always had had a hard time deceiving people he was close to, though. Neal leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Moz and Peter exchanged a worried glance. Moz pointed towards the pill bottle on the counter and shook his head. Peter nodded in understanding.

"Moz, you're a traitor." Neal mumbled. Moz grinned.

"As if he didn't know already. You're a horrible liar, Neal." Neal opened his eyes, blue eyes dull.

"My bag's by the door." Peter nodded

"I saw it. I assume you're ready to go? El's making dinner." Neal nodded and stood, grabbing the table to steady himself.

"I'm fine." He didn't sound very convincing. Moz slipped out before Peter and Neal did, leaving the two partners together.

"C'mon, Neal." Peter called over his shoulder, picking up the backpack. He watched Neal carefully, finally taking pity. "Just sit down before you fall down." Neal obliged. "Why don't you take your pills and then we can go?"

"Don't want to take 'em." Neal muttered, glazed eyes fixed on the floor. Peter let out a frustrated sigh.

"Then cowboy up and get your butt down to the car." As Neal stood and slowly made his way towards the door, Peter pocketed the small, orange pill bottle. Maybe he would drug Neal later.

The ride to the Burke household was quiet. Peter glanced over at Neal repeatedly. He couldn't help but worry; Neal was never this quiet. It was always a bad sign.

Dinner passed almost silently. Peter could tell Neal was hurting, but he didn't know what he could do about it. After the table was cleared El motioned for Peter to follow Neal as the younger man retreated into the living room. When he entered, Neal was sitting in Peter's recliner, eyes closed.

"That's my chair." Peter joked, sitting on the couch. Neal looked up at him, his face pale with pain.

"Too bad." He retorted weakly.

"Yeah. Why don't you take your pain pills and go to bed?"

"Don't need pain killers." Peter rolled his eyes.

"Like hell you don't! You look miserable, Neal. I'm not blind." He paused for a moment before playing his final card. "Besides, you're worrying El." Neal let of a breath and then nodded.

"Fine. But only because El wants me to." Peter smiled ruefully, standing and ruffling Neal's hair before getting a glass of water. After Neal had taken the pills, Peter waited. He wondered what had made the con so nervous to take them in the first place. His cryptic message in the hospital didn't give much away. Fifteen minutes later, he got his answer.

"Peter? Wanna go t' bed." Neal slurred.

"Alright. C'mon. Off to bed with you." He helped Neal up the stairs, surprised by the amount of weight the younger man was leaning on him. Finally, Peter carefully laid Neal down on the bed pulling the covers over him. Three years ago, if someone had told him he would be tucking Neal Caffrey into bed one day, he would have shot them. "Night, kid." Peter mussed up the younger man's hair again, turning to leave. But something stopped him. Something in the form of criminally talented hands. Peter looked down at Neal and then at his hand, which Neal had managed to snag.

"Don' go." The con's eyes were glassy, his pupils wide.

"Neal, go to sleep." Peter tried to pull his hand away, but Neal's grip was deceptively strong.

"Don'. Go."

"Fine." Peter sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at Neal. "Why don't you want me to go?" He asked, noticing that Neal hadn't let go yet.

"Safe. You're safe."

"I didn't know we were playing tag. Who's it?" Neal blinked confusedly, the joke falling short. Peter sighed. "Never mind."

"Just don't go. You're safe."

"Neal…what are you talking about?" Peter tried again to pull his hand free but to no avail.

"You…make me…safe."

"Neal…no one's going to hurt you. Just get some rest."

"Peter, please. Stay? I…nightmares…" Neal's eyes fluttered shut but they opened again after a moment. Peter almost smiled; Neal was fighting sleep like a kid who didn't want to take his nap.

"What do you want me to do about the nightmares?"

"Protect me." The words were softly whispered, but they went straight to Peter's heart. Neal tugged on Peter's hand. "Please?"

"Alright. Alright, I'll stay." He was just glad none of the guys from the Bureau could see this. "Scoot over." He pushed against Neal's legs, getting the younger man to slide over some. Peter lay down next to him. "There. See? I'm staying." Neal nodded sleepily.

"Thank you." He was quiet for a while and Peter hoped he'd fallen asleep. But when he moved to get up, that familiar hand tightened its grip.

"Don't go, Peter…keep me safe…" Peter groaned inwardly and lay back down. Neal shifted closer, his cheek pressed against the agent's shoulder.

"Neal. What are you doing?"

"I don't want…you to go."

"Yeah, I got that."

"I keep having… nightmares…I just want to sleep." Neal was almost inaudible.

"Then sleep."

"Stay. Don't leave like…like everyone else…"

"Who else left?" He couldn't help but feel guilty for prying, but knowing Neal, this might be the only time he got decent answers. The FBI agent in him told him to take advantage of this.

"Dad…mom…Kate…I can't…" Neal's voice quivered and Peter felt guiltier than he thought possible. "I can't lose you too."

"Ok…Ok, I'm staying. I'm not going anywhere." He got the sinking feeling that they were talking about more than Peter staying in the room.

"Thanks." Neal wiggled a little closer, his head resting on Peter's shoulder now. Peter sighed, his exhaled breath making Neal's hair flutter a bit.

"You're so lucky you're on drugs right now." Peter growled "Otherwise, I'd never let you live this down."

"Promise…you'll still respect me…in the morning." Peter laughed suddenly at the unexpected humor. As Neal finally gave in to sleep, Peter turned his attention towards his thoughts. He figured that this was why Neal hadn't wanted to take the pain killers; loopy didn't begin to cover it. Though, it was nice to know Neal trusted him, placing him in the same list as Kate.

But Kate was only after that music box…what was it that Peter wanted? Did he want only Neal's skills in solving crimes and his insight or did he want more? Did he want to befriend the conman? Neal shifted in his sleep and instinctively Peter held him closer. He had his answer. Neal was his partner, his friend. Someone he knew would have his back. Peter smiled at the thought. There had always been a mutual respect between the con and the lawman, but now there was something more: trust. Neal trusted him, felt safe with him and Peter felt the same. He couldn't believe it had come to this. 'At least El will be proud.' He mused.

Neal stayed with the Burke's for another week. He went and saw the department shrink. Peter didn't let him go back to work during the time, citing his shoulder as reason to not be running around the city chasing crimes. So he stayed home with El. He went grocery shopping with her and helped her try out new recipes. And talked. He told he about Kate, about when they'd met, about the cons they ran together, the places they traveled. He described the way they'd lived in Venice, in Paris and all over Europe, with only enough to just barely get by. He made her promise not to tell Peter.

"I want him to figure it out on his own." He joked. And somewhere in the middle of those conversations, he healed.

The following Monday, Neal was woken when the lights suddenly flipped on. He groaned and pulled the pillow over his face.

"C'mon, Caffrey. Thought you wanted to get back to work." He lifted the edge of the pillow and peered at Peter, watching as the agent tied his tie.

"You were serious? I thought that was just the wine talking." He slid out of bed slowly, holding his left arm close to his body. It still hurt like hell. "Ok. Gimme fifteen."

"You have ten. Starting now."

"Peter…" Neal whined. "I'm wounded."

"Better get moving. Clock's ticking." Peter pointed at his watch, smiling when Neal glared at him. "El made pancakes."

"Ok, ok. I'll be right down. Geez. Just let me shower, unless you want a smelly consultant."

"I'd rather have a quiet consultant."

"No can do, Peter. No can do." Neal grabbed his bag and made his way to the bathroom. After a moment, Peter heard the shower running. Going downstairs, he wrapped his arms around El, kissing her check. She swatted him away playfully as she set the table.

"When's Neal coming down?"

"Probably a couple of minutes. He's in the shower." She nodded.

"He seems like he's doing better now. What do you think?" Peter thought back to their banter that morning and nodded.

"Yeah, I think he is. I think you helped more than that department shrink, though." She laughed.

"Because he trusts me. He just needed a woman's touch, that's all." Peter nodded, grabbing a pancake. El snatched it out of his hand.

"No. You have to wait. We're all going to eat together." Peter conceded, lowering his hands and sitting at the table.

"Fine, fine. So what exactly did you and Neal talk about?" He was curious. He was also a little worried. As a seasoned FBI agent it wasn't in his nature to leave his wife alone with a criminal, even if that criminal was Neal Caffrey. Scratch that, especially if that criminal was Neal Caffrey, full of smiles and charm.

"I can't tell. I've been sworn to secrecy." El's smile dimpled her cheeks as she watched her husband grow more flustered looking.

"El. What-"

"We talked about Kate. About when they met, how he asked her out, stuff like that. You wouldn't want to hear about it." Peter nodded, though he suspected Neal might have revealed more. Those thoughts were interrupted when the con in question came padding down the stairs barefoot, wearing most of his classic rat pack look.

"You look like a drowned rat." Peter commented, taking in the wet, still slightly dripping hair. "We do have towels, you know." Neal smiled brightly.

"I know. But I smelled El's breakfast and couldn't wait." He turned his charming smile to El, who laughed at him. He didn't have to tell them it was pretty hard to dry off with a bullet wound in the shoulder. The three sat in companionable silence as they ate. After the table was cleared and the dishwasher loaded, Peter pointed Neal towards the door and kissed El goodbye. As he started the car, he broached the subject he'd wanted more information about.

"What exactly did you and my wife talk about?"

AN: So sorry for the long delay! Everything got busy! I hope this makes up for it! Thanks everyone for all of your reviews! You've all been great. It's sad to see the story end, but I'm glad it went so well!


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